Hunger
by Zora Arian
Summary: "Yes," Mary enunciated the word, "I still want to know what you do when you're hungry for Molly Hooper." And Sherlock obliges by telling her. One-shot.


Hey there, all - for all the 2 years that I have been secretly (or not secretly) reading Sherlolly smut, this is my first attempt at smut AHAHAHA. Eh, not really smut per se, but more towards sensuality than explicit smut? Yeah, but this is the knowledge I have amassed on the type of smut I have a fondness for (sensuality smut, is this a thing?), so Imma giving it a go XD it doesn't start until half the page later, so I hope you don't mind the build-up :/

Anyway, give me helpful criticism if you have any on my first attempt at a mature story. Cos apparently it's a bit difficult to imagine sex scenes when you haven't experience sex before nor watch sex scenes (unless the sexy pictures I see in the Sherlolly tag count :P). I hope you like it for I certainly enjoyed writing this, and thank you for reading what I write! :DDD

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"Oh c'mon, you have to tell us!" Mary insisted once more, this time throwing a salacious waggle of her eyebrow at Molly.

"What the hell, Mary!" Molly replied instead, literally throwing her hands up in the air in semi-frustration. "Why in the bloody world would you- would you want to know about my- my sex life?!"

"Because it's better for her to hear what's been happening behind closed doors and under those sheets from your mouth rather than mine," John piped in, a smirk in place.

Molly full-on glared at him. "Why would you want to tell her about it?" she hissed at him, frankly feeling a bit defensive.

He caught on the rough tone in her voice and immediately apologised. "Oh God, sorry, Molly, it's just...Sherlock, uhhh, somehow told me a bit about your, hmm, 'late night activities' together during that night we went out on our impromptu drinking session with Greg and Anderson, and..." He threw a hardened sideway glance to his wife, who merely raised an eyebrow in return, before he continued, "Well, Mary here wanted to know everything after I, uhhh, mentioned that he told me the...nature of those late night activities with you..."

"Yes, yes, it's my fault for being curious and pulling this subject out in the open," Mary unashamedly declared while rolling her eyes. "But now that it's out, I want details."

"Why?!" Molly almost half-screamed. In a loud pub like the one the three of them were currently in, though, her screaming might just be overlooked anyway.

"Because it's you and the ever-elusive Sherlock!" Mary giggled, clapping her hands together.

John gave his wife a disbelieving look at how childish she was being; Molly scrunched her face up in slight disapproval at her friend's inappropriate enthusiasm.

"What? Is it wrong to know how Mr Seven-Times-A-Night is like in bed?" Mary retorted playfully, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest; her husband seated next to her rolled his eyes and took a generous swig of his beer.

Molly, however, felt her cheeks burn. "You know that title isn't…true. He never did care about what they thought about him anyway...but, uhhh..."

Molly trailed off, her eyes averted and looking at the glass of iced tea in her hands. Mary laughed out loud at how red her friend's cheeks were becoming. "But what?" she prodded, leaning forward with her forearms now resting at the edge of the table.

John slapped a hand to his forehead when he realised that, whether he wanted it or not, he was actually listening to his friends' 'late night activities' after all. Again. As if a drunk Sherlock spilling the beans about how he found it incredibly sexy an adorably shy yet accommodating Molly was in bed was not enough, here he was forced to listen to said 'adorably shy yet accommodating' woman's side of the story - all because his wife was somehow interested in their sex life, reasons why be damned.

John took another large swig of his beer, trying to forget that lustful face Sherlock was wearing as he drunkenly told them about a time he took Molly by surprise in the shower, with her still washing her hair, and he had climbed in the shower with his tight black shirt and form-fitting black dress pants still adorned and how she had clutched on to his clothing as he ravaged her mouth and his hand had travelled southwards-

Okay, great, fucking fantastic - you know there was something terribly wrong with you when you start thinking about your two friends doing...the do in the shower. He grimaced and drank his beer again.

Meanwhile, Mary was still fixated with Molly, and was awaiting her answer; the other woman blushed and blinked rapidly. "But, uhhh...he only cared about what I thought of him, was what he said, ahaha..."

"So? What did you tell him?"

Blinking again, this time at the childish eagerness in Mary's voice, she frowned, "You really are terribly interested in my sex life, are you?" she asked, disbelief writ on her face.

"Correction: your sex life with Sherlock," she replied easily with a wave of a hand. "Now answer my question - I'm dying to know!"

"Why?!"

"Because it's you and him, that's why!"

"Okay, fine, you want to know?" Molly finally gave in, throwing her hands up in the air in defeat.

Mary nodded eagerly in reply, her eyes wide-eyed like a child in a candy shop.

Molly took a deep breath and let it out. "Well, I told him he's sexy enough that he's a head and more taller than me, and that I could fit myself underneath him like a perfect puzzle piece; it's satisfying to know that my partner is larger and taller than me because it makes me feel tiny, and the way he folds and moulds himself to encompass my small body is protective in a way."

Mary was giving a large smile as Molly shyly talked, and when she was done the blond nodded her head. "That's so sweet! Now, on to the dirty, filthy bits!"

"What?"

"That's it - I'm out," John declared, standing up from the comfortable red couch he was sitting beside his wife. It was one thing having to listen to drunk Sherlock talking about fingering Molly in the shower and Molly talking about Sherlock hugging her to him like she was his teddy bear, but he would not sit here and listen to whatever fucking 'dirty, filthy bits' of their sex life if he had a choice.

Apparently he had no choice at all for his wife forcibly sat him down with a hand pushing down hard at his shoulder. "Oh no, darling - where do you think you're going?"

"To get some fresh air, because I am not going to be sitting here and listening to- to Molly's and Sherlock's sex life if I can help it!"

"But I'm listening, and I'm not moving anywhere," Mary said, arms crossed over her chest once more. With her deciding not to move an inch, John had no other way to go out since his other side of the couch was a wall.

"Goddammit, Mary - you're going to be the death of me!" John mumbled and finally gave in, flopping down onto the couch while rubbing both his hands over his face.

"Now, continue on, Molly!"

"You are embarrassing me, Mary," Molly hissed, stealing a glance at an exasperated John who looked like he was mentally encouraging himself to just sit down and endure another round of listening to his two friends having sex with each other.

"Oh, okay then, darling," Mary said soothingly, uncrossing her arms and clasping her hands together on the table. "You wanna hear about mine and John's, then?"

"Holy fuck, Mary - **_NO_**!" John slapped a hand to his forehead again, the sound of the smack audible to the two women.

"I **think** I'd rather tell you mine," Molly hurried on, eyes wide at the prospect of hearing what Mary and John had been doing behind closed doors.

"Okay, then!" The childish eager voice came back. "Now spill!"

"What, uhhh, specifically do you wanna know?" Molly asked nervously. Goddammit, she was nearing 32 and Sherlock was 37 - both of them were perfectly consenting adults when it came to sex, and yet she felt that she was being interrogated by a discipline mistress for having broken a school rule.

"Hmm," Mary hummed, pondering the question for a few seconds. "How about telling me how Sherlock's like when he hasn't seen you in weeks?"

Molly's blush came back in full force this time and Mary giggled like a schoolgirl having known her teacher's dirty little secret, while John merely groaned out loud.

"H-haven't seen in weeks?" Molly clarified, to which Mary nodded her head.

"Oh, you know, that usual business of him running around doing errands for Mycroft or going out the country to save whichever poor soul's reputation and all that takes up weeks, or sometimes months."

Mary then leaned in, arms on the edge of the table once more. "But when he comes back, the times I've seen him when he's around you...oh God, Molly - you must have realised how...**_hungry_** he was."

John exhaled loudly to break the tension, not because he was being affected at the thought of his tall dark-haired friend being...hungry for Molly, but- oh what the fuck, he was being affect by that thought, alright, and he did it more for his benefit to break that damn thought and not to break any tension.

"Hungry? Ahaha yeah, he tends to eat more after a case, after all!"

Molly gave a carefree laugh as she replied, and John internally groaned at her misunderstanding Mary's words. His wife, however, smiled and casually corrected her friend, "What I mean is that he's always hungry for you, and I bet in the nights that follow, he eats his fill of you."

Holy friggin' fuck - why did he marry Mary again? Her boldness and relentless pursuit in knowing information about the Sherlolly sex life (that was the Tumblr's portmanteau of Sherlock's and Molly's names, 'Sherlolly') had him a bit worried about her interrogation skills.

Blinking at Mary's straightforward, no-nonsense words, Molly's cheeks burned up. "You...you observed him?"

"Quite difficult to not catch his intentions when all he has his eyes on is you," the other woman said laughingly. "Sherlock tries so hard to hide his erection whenever you move near him - he's like a predator forcing himself to not chase after his prey when there's company. Oh, the poor dear."

"You saw his erection?" John spoke up, grimacing at his wife.

Mary rolled her eyes in return. "If you would bother to not only see, but observe as well, you'll find that he keeps on adjusting his pants only when Molly's around - his eyes are almost always purely trained on her, and he actually bristles with irritation when he sees her talking to some other guy, eventhough Sherlock knows the guy himself."

John rubbed at his eye with his knuckles. "Just...oh God, just get on with your interrogation; the earlier we can end this, the faster I can get home and search around for some brain bleach or some shit."

"Oh, c'mon, John," Mary teased her husband with a playful nudge to his shoulder with her own; he shook his head and ignored her, instead taking to leaning his cheek against his knuckles and staring adamantly into his half-full glass of beer.

Molly watched the couple interact with each other and she smiled a small smile to herself - if only she was already married, and had a relationship like the one John and Mary had.

"Don't think I've forgotten about you, Molly," Mary waggled an accusing finger in front of Molly's face, immediately snapping her from her reverie and bringing her attention back to the present. "Now, how is he in bed after he comes back from a long case?"

Biting her bottom lip into her mouth, Molly could not help but recall the times of Sherlock and her during those times, and her face heated up once more. Oh well, since she wanted to know so much, let her eat her fill, so to speak.

"Umm, Sherlock, he's, uhhh..." Dammit, at least stop stuttering while speaking! "Hmm. Sherlock - he's really...demanding of my attention when we're alone; he'd tell me about how much he misses me inbetween, uhhh, heated kisses, and he always says 'finally we're alone, and you're mine to devour'."

Mary's eyes widen in gleeful anticipation as Molly shyly continued, her eyes averted and looking down at her hands. "He's fond of pinning me against the wall, putting my wrists up and over my head, and holding them with one large hand while the other skims down my body. He just kisses me - more like devour or ravage my mouth, I guess, since he seems to just want to kiss me and not let go - and he'd nip and bite at my neck..."

Molly stopped for a while, her hands now covering her heated face. She was expecting Mary to chastise her for stopping her story halfway and to encourage her to continue with her narrative, when the spot to her left of the couch dipped and she felt a heavy weight settling itself beside her, an arm slung over her shoulder and some fabric that landed on her lap. In mortification at knowing that someone else might have heard what she was saying, she removed her hands from her face and was about to push the unknown person away.

The unknown person turned out to be a well-known person, whose deep shade of blue-green irises a mere ring around fully blackened, dilated pupils.

The deep, husky voice accompanying that pair of enchanting and lustful eyes resonated deep within Molly, making her shiver at how...primal and aroused it sounded. "Are you going to continue, or should I pick up where you left off?"

John was swearing left, right, up and down at the sudden appearance of Sherlock and the words he had said (n-o-fucking way was he going to listen to Sherlock talking about his sex life AGAIN) while Mary, again, was nodding her head gleefully in answer, apparently too excited at the appearance of the male half of the pairing; Molly did not register both their reactions, though, for her attention was affixed on the gorgeous man next to her.

"H-how much have you heard...?" she asked, almost inaudibly, very nervously.

Sherlock stared at her long and hard before something snapped in him - Molly knew him as Sherlock and Sherlock well enough to recognise that snap, that small raising reflex of his eyebrows that indicated that he had figured something out and was very happy with his line of thought - and he gave her a devilishly handsome and slightly lewd, dark smirk on his attractive face.

He leaned in, his arm around her shoulder coaxing her nearer to him while his other hand adjusted the fabric (which turned out to be his black suit jacket) on her lap to cover her lower body before it snaked to the thigh closest to him to grab at her and pull her closer. She was seated half on his lap when he was done manoeuvring her near to the edge of the couch where the wall was, her thigh covered by the jacket across his lap and her ankle dangling over the other edge of the couch.

His breath was hot in her ear as he whispered, "I've heard everything - 'you're mine to devour', you've repeated what I said, word for word. And now, since Mary wants to know about us, I'll give her a run for her money."

Molly was about to object - she would rather leave this place and drag Sherlock back to her place (since it was nearer to this pub than his own apartment) and get on with this sinful foreplay they were having between them - when she felt a probing hand slide up her bare thigh under the cover of the jacket and slip again under her skirt.

In a louder voice, Sherlock turned his head and smirked at Mary. "You still want to know what I do when I'm hungry for Molly Hooper?"

John was watching the display infront of him, at the way Sherlock held Molly in his embrace, and suddenly realisation marred his handsome features. "Oh, for the love of God, Sherlock – you're back from a case?! Fucking fuckity fuck - get a room, you bastard!"

Mary merely laughed out loud at how slow her husband was (alcohol really did slow his ability to think, but of course he refused to believe what she said when she told him) and directed a challenging gaze at the man seated directly opposite her husband at the table. "Yes," she enunciated the word, "I still want to know what you do when you're hungry for Molly Hooper."

In the dimness and noise of the pub, Molly buried her head deep into Sherlock's shoulder and clutched tightly at his tight button-up shirt to stifle a moan as he circled a finger around her clit over her knickers, which he had been doing all the while he was talking to Mary. She felt like a naughty schoolgirl being fingered by her professor or some sort, but she could not bring herself to tell him to stop because, by God how she had missed him, and it was obvious he missed her, judging by how quickly he had his fingers on her the instant he sat down beside her. She felt him adjusting her body on his lap, the jacket moving a bit but was still effectively covering her lower part, while at the same time pushing her knickers to the side to slide a finger, then two, into her slick and wet entrance.

Hearing her audible gasp as his fingers entered her, Sherlock took it as a sign to pick up where his Molly had left off in the story.

"I love pinning her up against the wall," he started, voice deep and strong with no attempt at hiding the lust behind it, "because I love dominating her - to feel her pliant and soft body beneath me, ripe and ready for the taking, makes me feel...evil. And we all know, especially Molly here after her having watched Star Trek: Into Darkness, how dangerously sexy a villain can be."

Slowly, his fingers began moving in and out of her while he continued talking, eyes never leaving the enraptured ones of Mary's. "Me kissing her is like a drowning man gasping for his next breath, a thirsty man gulping down bottle after bottle of water - I take what I want from her, 'devouring' and 'ravaging' her mouth, as she had described the intensity of my kisses to be. To be weeks away from her never fail to leave me famished; to come home to her body is like a grand feast fit for a king. And I will eat my fill of her."

It was barely audible, but because he was the nearest to her, Sherlock was the only one who heard Molly's very soft panting and the occasional mewl as he continued his ministrations under the jacket. He gave a large smirk, misleading Mary into thinking that he was smug about his story so far instead of being smug that he was making Molly clutch onto his clothes for dear life.

John was beginning to wonder why Molly was burying her head into Sherlock's chest - was she embarrassed at the way Sherlock was describing their foreplay? And it was certainly just foreplay he was talking about - they have not even gotten to the point where they both had stripped off their clothing and were on the bed- oh God, John, why the fuck are you thinking about it? Get those fucking images of them both out of your head, man, and take another swig of beer, for fuck's sake!

Mary, however, was still entranced. Her eyebrow was raised at Molly's position on Sherlock's lap, but she decided to ignore her for a moment to continue listening to Sherlock making use of his extensive English literary skills to add sensuality to his narrative. And damn if the man did not put 'sensuality' in the narrative.

"Her neck - oh her pale neck, long and slim and wonderful to nip and bite at, as she had said, while I have her pinned against the wall. That neck, when peppered with my kisses and bites, shows off my ownership of her - anyone lucky enough to see them will know that she belongs to somebody, and she is not for the taking. She is mine, and those colourful bruises and bites that contrasts beautifully against her skin prove it."

Molly began to feel a very small and gentle coil rising in her abdomen due to the effect of what Sherlock was still slowly doing to her and his deep voice describing the things he had done to her. Still, he was just beginning, had just gotten the ball rolling.

"I am hungry for her, and you may think I would just kiss her and fuck her into the mattress like an animal just to satisfy that hunger and then we call it a night, but I am more than that; on second thought, Molly doesn't mind me fucking her into the mattress like an animal on some nights - in fact, she loves it, loves the display of my strength and the pull of my muscles as I rut into her."

Hearing her soft whimper beneath him at him revealing one of her kinks spurred him on. With a shark-like grin, Sherlock continued, his fingers still steadily pumping in and out of her slick entrance, "No matter what happens, on the first night I have with Molly I will take my time. I will slowly ravish her utterly and thoroughly, and satisfy my curiosity at the changes she and her body has gone through while I'm away. Starting with the tip of her nose all the way down to her toes, I will not leave any skin untouched by my lips as I explore in my own time. After all, a feast worth devouring is a feast worth savouring at its fullest first."

Mary was smiling, her eyes slightly unfocussed as Sherlock's skilful, narrative voice allowed her to let her imagination run a bit wild. Her husband beside her had decided to give up on the idea of leaving the pub anytime soon and instead taken to laying his head on his arms on the table, slowly drifting off to sleep. Molly, still in Sherlock's arms and still impaled on his fingers, was panting a bit heavily, yet still managing to do it quietly.

"Molly brings out the gentleman in me - she makes me want to be attentive to her needs and wants, and I deliver them - but she also brings out the primal part in me, and this is when I get rough. I savour her enough, catalogue the changes in her, and now I start devouring."

As he continued the second section of his narrative, his fingers began to move just that bit faster, harder, and Molly was gasping at the change; no matter how infinitesimal it might seemed, she felt the change in her and it felt...wonderful.

"Her breasts are small, yes, but they fit just so well in my gigantic hands - not too much, but not too little as well. Just nice, a perfect fit - just like how she's a perfect fit when I insert two fingers into her as I taste and drink her in."

Mary's eyes widen at the salaciousness of his last few words and raised an eyebrow. "Hmm, you sure you want to continue with your narrative, Sherlock?" she teased, knowing how, usually, he would be as flustered as Molly when it came to anything of a sexual nature.

Instead of the usual embarrassed stammering, Sherlock let out a deep bass of a chuckle that seemed to originate from the back of his throat or deep down his chest; Molly felt the vibration of said chuckle and shivered at how deep it was.

"Oh, I will continue, Mrs Watson," he said in a dark tone, eyes resolute on the other woman's. "And I will finish this."

Slowly picking up speed on both his pumping fingers in Molly and his narrative, Sherlock went on, "Her taste - she tastes like heaven, and I will drink her at every opportunity I can. When she orgasms after I play her body like the rarest instrument known to mankind, the symphony of her cries and moans is music to my ears. Oh, if you could hear her gasps and mewls and her sweet voice shyly asking for more, to give it to her harder, rougher, deeper, you would understand why it brings out the animal in me; you would understand why I lose control then and just give in to her, to my base desire to possess her with my body, my soul. I give it to her, and she takes all of me in - matching thrust for thrust, she takes what I have to give, and I give her all I have. Her moans, her gasps, her pleas - I swallow them in my mouth. They are as valuable to me as her orgasms are, and I will ensure that I fully devour her every way I can."

The gentle coil was becoming more prominent as his fingers gained speed, and Molly had to settle with breathing heavily through her nose for she was worried that her heavy panting would be much more obvious audibly.

"To bring her over the edge may seem like nothing to you, but to me it's an accomplishment. I am the one to bring her over to that edge, I am the one to get her to an orgasmic high, I am the one who makes her scream. And she doesn't scream out any name, no - she screams out **_my_** name. For such a soft-spoken woman, her moans and shouts and screams are loud; there are nights when I gag her with her knickers when she requests to do so, but frankly I prefer that little mouth to be screaming my name at the top of her lungs. She screams my name and I swallow it - I swallow that scream into my mouth as we tumble over the edge because that scream, just like my name that comes out of her mouth, belongs to me. Everything about her is mine: her body, her juices, her moans and shouts and gasps and mewls, her orgasms - they are mine for the keeping."

Sherlock had been slowly rubbing his thumb against her sensitive clit midway through his narrative and, combined with the pumping of his fingers, Molly finally felt the coil uncoil and she tumbled over the edge, just like how he had described her experience when she orgasm. She remained as quiet as possible, her eyes closed tightly, but her small fingers held a death grip on his clothes as compensation for the silence she had to force in herself.

She took a moment to compose herself, not believing that she had just orgasm in a very public, but still loud, place. She felt the fingers in her leave, and suddenly she felt empty. She slowly opened her eyes to look up at the smiling face of Sherlock. He gave a small kiss to her nose before he whispered tenderly to her, "But all this is not possible if you did not accept me for who I am, so thank you, Molly Hooper."

Mary had clapped her hands together in applause, saying that she had really enjoyed the narrative and had praised him at the way he worded his experience with Molly, and was now trying to wake up her husband, who was sleeping like a log beside her if his gradually loud snoring was anything to go by.

With Mary being distracted by the task of waking her half-dead husband, Sherlock slipped the two fingers that were in Molly into his mouth and sucked her juices clean off said fingers. Her eyes widened at how...filthy the act seemed, but he merely winked cheekily at her. He leaned in to whisper to her, "But don't think the night is over yet, Molly dear - I still haven't pin you up against the wall."


End file.
